


The Old College Try

by RemoCon



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 13:52:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemoCon/pseuds/RemoCon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo had been quite content to stay at home, until Gandalf showed up and offered him a place at Middle Earth University. Now he's got a roommate prone to stress knitting, two hyperactive hall mates, and a crush on Thorin Oakenshield bigger than the Queen's treasury. </p>
<p>He's not saying he likes it, but it could be worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Old College Try

Bilbo Baggins was quite content. Every day he left his family home, walked three blocks and turned right into downtown, where The Green Wood had been located for going on thirty years now. It was owned by a chipper, if slightly loony, old man named Radagast who had agreed to hire Bilbo after his exam year without so much as one recommendation. While Radagast was there more days than he wasn’t, over the past year Bilbo had taken over much of the day to day running of the store and felt confident that in another he would have enough money to rent a place of his own—if that’s what his parents wanted, anyway. He wasn’t that bothered about moving out, truth be told.

On Fridays, Radagast liked to close the store early, because he believed fervently that no one wanted to purchase a book after three on the one truly responsibility-free night of the week.

“Because you see, Bilbo, on Sunday people have to worry about Monday and so come Saturday night people are worrying about all the things they must get done, but Friday, oh on Fridays Bilbo, the only thing coming after is Saturday, which we all know is the true day of rest,” Radagast had explained, when Bilbo had made a small query about the store’s odd hours. Bilbo had, over the course of the year, tried to get Radagast to see reason, but he either vanished mysteriously as soon as the topic came up, or quickly steered the conversation into topics like the inevitable disappearance of the polar bears from the earth, or whether condoms were produced in an environmentally friendly way.

Luckily, and in a somewhat baffling way, this policy didn’t seem to hurt The Green Wood’s profits, so, strange as he still found it, Bilbo closed the store at three that week, as he did every week, and set off back towards his home. What he did not expect was to find his parents sitting into the living room with a complete stranger when he got there.

“Oh, darling, come sit in here and meet my old friend, Mr. Gandalf Greyheim,” his mother said, waving as he hung his coat up by the door.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” Bilbo said as he entered. He offered his hand across the small coffee table in the middle of the room, which Gandalf took with a queer sort of smile on his face. It was a fine, normal sort of handshake, but as they parted hands Bilbo felt his palm tingling. He couldn’t explain, and he hated to be one to judge, but there seemed to be something very odd about this Gandalf person.

His mother shooed him into the chair next to his father’s, so with reluctance he sat, waiting to see what this was all about.

“So, Bilbo, I hear you work at The Green Wood,” Gandalf said, looking at him very intently.

“Yes, every day except Saturday,” Bilbo said cautiously, “When we’re closed. Why? Are you looking for a book?”

“No, if I was I imagine I would have gone there, instead of here, and yet here I am,” Gandalf said. “But I went to school with Radagast when I was young, so I thought I might ask what you thought of working for him.”

“Oh, well it’s great. It’s really great,” Bilbo enthused. “I’ve really learned a lot working there.”

“Is that what you want to do, then? Work in a book store? Or perhaps you’d like to open your own one day?” Gandalf inquired, which was a tad too much prying for Bilbo’s taste. He was surprised his father hadn’t spoke up yet—if anyone was uncomfortable with those kind of questions, it was his father. He liked to talk about the weather, and if he’d a few drinks, football. Nothing substantial, and nothing concerning Bilbo’s future aspirations if he could help it; he claimed it gave him a headache.

“Well, I,” Bilbo started to say, faltering. He hadn’t really put any thought into future aspirations, and he didn’t see what was wrong with that, but he was rather sick of people judging him when he said as much.

“Gandalf has offered you a place at his university,” his mother cut in, and that certainly explained her face, which looked far too excited for a simple visit from a friend.

“Mother,” Bilbo said gently, “We’ve discussed this. I haven’t decided about going to university yet.”

“Dammit all,” his father suddenly said, leaning forward in his chair. “No more working at that shop. No more lounging about this house. Gandalf has offered you a place at his school, and you are going.”

“But,” Bilbo protested, seeing the room start to swim in front of him.

“It’s really for the best, dear. The term starts in the middle of August, which I know seems a little early, but it still gives you a couple weeks to get everything ready. We just think it’ll be so good for you,” his mother added.

“Where is it? The school?” Bilbo asked, trying to breathe in deeply through his mouth, and then out through his nose. Because that was the proper thing to do, to stop from passing out, wasn’t it?

“I’m not exactly sure. Somewhere in Europe,” his mother said, looking to Gandalf for confirmation, who nodded.

“Oh,” Bilbo said faintly. “I see.”

Then he passed out.

***

“I’ve never even been abroad before, and now they expect me to just pack up and go off to college in god knows where? How is that they can’t even tell me what country I’m going to be in? Aren’t they even the slightest bit bothered that they won’t even know, generally speaking, where their son is on the globe?” Bilbo shouted at a stack of books the next day.

“I think I’ll just close up the store while you’re away,” Radagast said, holding something that looked suspiciously like the pipe in his hand. Bilbo could just tell he was two seconds away from lighting it as well, in a room full of book stacks, as if he had no idea of the potential fire hazard. He was so glad to hear that Radagast was going to close the store while he was gone, because he just knew that he would come back and find a pile of ash and rubble where the store used to be.

Wait.

“What do you mean you’re going to close the store? I’m going to be gone for months! I might never come back, because, as I’ve been saying, I have no idea where I’m even going!” Bilbo shouted, turning quickly to face his clearly very ill employer.

“It’ll be fine, my dear, don’t worry,” Radagast said, fumbling around in his pockets for what Bilbo could only assume as a lighter. “And actually, don’t worry about the store today. I’ll just close it up, and you come back whenever you’re back.”

“What,” Bilbo could only repeat, feeling his jaw literally drop. This couldn’t be happening. Surely, even Radagast could not be this mental.

“Go on,” Radagast said, pushing Bilbo gently toward the door, apparently temporarily giving up on his lighter quest.

“Everyone has gone insane,” Bilbo said, when he found himself standing on the sidewalk outside the store. A woman walking by with her children gave him a funny look.

“Everyone except me!” he called after her. The way she sped up, picking up the smallest child, was more than little insulting.

***

“So, Gandalf will meet you at the airport to drive you to the school. Here’s your ticket, your passport, and you’ve already got your bags, so just give me a kiss and we’ll be off,” his mother said while his father sat in the car, having refused to even turn off the engine. Bilbo, however, felt not particularly charitably inclined, and though there was a small chance that he might die in a terrible plane crash and regret in that split second before he died in a ball of fire that he had not kissed his mother good bye, he decided to take his chances and just turned around and rolled his bags into the terminal.

The ticket said Air France, so he breathed a small sigh of relief. He’d imagined ending up in Siberia or South Africa or maybe a small island in the middle of the pacific that didn’t even have a name. He checked his bags and made it through security without too much of a bother, but his parents hadn’t dropped him off nearly early enough so he wound up having to dash for his gate and arriving just in time for the last boarding call. His seat, as luck would have it, turned out in the very back of the plane, next to a woman and a baby that looked prepared to cry as soon as they were all good and trapped in the air.

He should’ve just gone off to university with the rest of his class. It wasn’t like he’d done poorly on his A levels—he’d done bloody well, thank you very much—but all the good schools had just seemed so far from his little town, and he’d always figured that if he really wanted to he could just go later. If his parents had just been up front about it and told him that the alternative to going right out of secondary school was ending up at some bizarre little foreign university, he would have happily applied to Oxford then and there.

Middle Earth University—what kind of name was that? And who expects students to show up halfway through August? It just wasn’t right. Furthermore, if Gandalf was any indication of the staff, it would be full of nothing but crackpots and lunatics. There couldn’t be any kind of academic prestige associated with it either, if Gandalf could just swoop in and offer him a spot, so close to the beginning of term. He really couldn’t imagine what his parents were thinking.

True to its promise, the baby began to cry the moment the wheels left the tarmac. Bilbo sighed. What a wonderful beginning to this new chapter in his life.

***

By the time he got to baggage claim, Gandalf had already collected his two suitcases and stuffed them into the back of his car.

“Come on, there’s nothing for you there,” Gandalf said, as he spotted Bilbo trying to locate his luggage. “It’s all taken care of. Now just come along, we’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

“A long drive to where, exactly?” Bilbo asked, trying to keep up with Gandalf’s long strides. He’d never been a tall fellow, but something about Gandalf made him feel positively microscopic.

“To Middle Earth University, obviously,” Gandalf said.

“Yes, which is where?” Bilbo asked, annoyed. He couldn’t understand why this was such a hard question.

“It is where it is, and there it will continue to be. Ah, here we are,” Gandalf said, stopping next to a stunningly white car. Bilbo spotted his luggage, stuffed between the seats. The license plate read ‘SHADOWFAX’ which he supposed could be homage to a dead pet. He decided he didn’t want to know, in case it wasn’t.

Once they were both buckled into their respective seats, Gandalf pulled out of the parking space and shot down the parking lot, pulling onto the road and leaving a small piece of Bilbo’s nerves behind. He had been wrong; it hadn’t been the plane ride that was going to result in his fiery death.

“I’ve put your welcome packet in the glove compartment, if you want to take a look,” Gandalf said as he continued to speed down the roads, without a care for laws or other drivers. “It should answer most of your questions, because I find it tedious to talk about things like school statistics and class sizes. But if you have anything really pressing to ask when you’ve finished, don’t hesitate to ask. I may even answer.”

“Right,” Bilbo replied. “Right.”

He pulled the glove compartment open, and pulled out a surprising thick, if slightly crumpled, folder. The university name and what presumably was the school crest adorned the front, and he opened it carefully. He might not have wanted to come, but he was in this car with a near stranger and the contents of this folder were going to explain the quality of life he could expect for the next four years, give or take.

_Welcome New Student,_ the cover letter began,

_You are now part of a small, elite community. Our university boasts more than several past, present, and future monarchs, presidents, and prime ministers, and you have been invited to join their academic ranks. Though your time at Middle Earth University will be the most challenging years of your life, you will also, if you put in the effort, find them the most rewarding. You will be joined by 49 other students in your class, all hand-picked, to be at our school. We hope you can therefore appreciate the amazing opportunity you have been given._

_You will attend a day long orientation session the day before the older students arrive and classes begin. This is mandatory and you will find an itinerary at the end of your packet. You will find your class schedule and room assignment as well._

_Again, welcome to Middle Earth University._

_Sincerely,_

Bilbo squinted, but the signature was illegible and the person had neglected to type their name below.

“What does this mean my schedule is in here? I don’t get to pick my classes? Ah, right, no questions until I’m done reading,” he said hastily, catching a glimpse of Gandalf’s face. He returned to the packet, flipping to the back. The orientation session looked pretty straightforward, and he was living somewhere named Rivendell with someone named Ori Nain. But the classes—

“These are all advanced level literature classes! How am I supposed to take these, when I haven’t had any introductory courses?” Bilbo exclaimed.

“Hmph,” Gandalf grunted. “You are assigned the classes we believe you to be capable of taking. And you were intending on being a literature major, were you not?”

“Well, yes, but I hadn’t quite made up my mind yet--”

“And that is why we do not allow students to choose their own classes. Far too much dithering about,” Gandalf said, suddenly swerving onto an exit ramp.

“Of course, makes perfect sense,” Bilbo grumbled. His arm throbbed where it has smacked into the door. He was sure he would have a bruise in a few hours.

The rest of the folder was mostly pictures of various dorms and classroom buildings, with an odd quote thrown in here and there. ‘Most classes only have 10 students, and none more than 20,’ or ‘Minas Tirith, our main classroom building, was built in the 15th century.’ The actual ride to the university took about four hours, but it felt like a lifetime, or maybe like a second, because Bilbo felt like he’d been holding his breath since they left the airport.

The pictures didn’t do the campus justice, Bilbo decided the moment Gandalf pulled up the brick-laid driveway. It was a bit like a medieval castle, or a series of small medieval castles, if they’d been built in a mystical land where the grass was greener than he’d ever seen, and the trees taller than he thought possible. Flowers bloomed in perfectly maintained gardens all along the entrance way, and Gandalf parked by a fountain that reminded Bilbo of the one time his parents had taken him into London and they’d visited Trafalgar square.

A man walked briskly down one of the main walkways towards them as Bilbo struggled to pull his bags out of the car.

“Ah, Lindir,” Gandalf said as the man came to stand beside them. Bilbo smiled weakly. The man smiled back, and somehow managed to get both of Bilbo’s bags unstuck and placed on the ground between them.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Baggins,” Lindir said graciously.

“He’ll show you to your room. I have things I must attend to,” Gandalf said, striding off rather suddenly.

“Um, thank you!” Bilbo called after him.

“Don’t worry about that, he does that quite often. You’ll get used to it,” Lindir said, pulling up the handles of both of Bilbo’s bags. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’re going the other way.”

“Oh, I can get those,” Bilbo said, as Lindir began to walk away, pulling the bags behind him.

“Nonsense. Now, this building here is Lothlorien, the main office building, which you probably won’t have much cause to go in,” Lindir narrated as they walked down the path. “That next to it is Edoras, our sporting complex. And that, just beyond, is Rivendell, your dorm.”

“Holy shit,” Bilbo said, his eyes widening.

“Yes, most students say that,” Lindir said, chuckling.

The castle motif certainly continued in regards to Rivendell, but it looked like it ought to have a waterfall nearby and paper lanterns lighting up the sky around it. Lindir led the way inside, which thankfully looked slightly less like a castle, with no suits of armor lining the halls. His room was on the second floor, which he was grateful for because he didn’t see any sign of an elevator. In general, he was starting to feel less horrible about the whole living situation, until Lindir stopped in front of his room.

“So is there where you give me my key, or do I have to go somewhere else for that?” Bilbo asked.

“We don’t have many locks here,” Lindir said, looking quite peaceful about the situation, “And certainly none in the dorms.”

“And that’s never been a problem?” Bilbo asked, more than a little skeptical. One of his mates from school, Gaffer, had told him about the serious laptop theft problem at his university.

“Never,” Lindir said. “Well, I’ll leave you to get settled. The dining hall opens tonight at six, and there should be a campus map on your desk.”

“Great,” Bilbo said, trying to scowl. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“Indeed,” Lindir said, smiling. Then he turned, and headed back down the hall. Bilbo sighed, and pushed open the door. A slender man with a terrible bowl cut sat on the bed nearest the windows knitting.

“Hello,” Bilbo said, wheeling his bags to the other bed. “You must be Ori.”

The other man started, dropping his needles and yarn onto the floor. He flushed, looking at Bilbo like he was apologizing for making such a sorry first showing of himself.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo said quickly, kneeling down to pick up the fallen knitting. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay. And thanks. I am Ori, by the way,” he said, taking the mess from Bilbo’s hands. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. And I really am sorry,” Bilbo said, taking account of the tangled pile of yarn Ori now held.

“It’s really no problem,” Ori said, smiling a little. “I can fix it in no time. Would you like any help unpacking first, though?”

“No, I don’t have much, but thanks anyway,” Bilbo replied. Ori nodded, and went to work fixing his knitting. Bilbo, for his part, took a better look around the room, which was a bit bigger than he’d expected it to be—he and Ori both had a full dresser and closet, as well as a bed and desk. Their desks were side by side against the far wall, the dressers were next to his bed, which was perpendicular to Ori’s. He wondered if Ori would get cold during the winter, with his bed against the windows like that. He supposed that Ori was fine with it either way, since he’d picked it.

Sighing again, he unzipped his bags and as fast as he could put all of his clothes into the dresser, except his one nice suit, which he hung up, and then he shoved his luggage into the closet as well. After he’d made his bed, he laid down on it and wondered how long he would have to lay there before he was kicked out and allowed to go back home. He should’ve invested into that mattress pad as well; his back was not going to thank him for sleeping on this bed.

He wanted to close his eyes, but it was still too sunny out to properly fall asleep, so he just took up staring at the ceiling and contemplating all the things he’d done wrong in his life.

“Um,” Ori said some time later. “Would you like to go to dinner? The dining hall should be open now.”

“No thanks. I think I’ll just stay here tonight,” Bilbo said glumly. His missed his bedroom at home, all of his pillows and blankets and his lovely bookcase. He should be at work right now—he wondered if Radagast had realized how silly shutting down the whole store was yet. Probably not. He just hoped the old man hadn’t knocked a pile of books onto himself. He could just picture walking into the store in December and finding Radagast’s remains, squashed beneath the classics section.

“Okay,” Ori said. Bilbo saw him leave out of the corner of his eye, looking downtrodden. He thought he should apologize, that seemed like good roommate etiquette, but he couldn’t work up the willpower before Ori closed the door behind himself.

He was going to have to do better, unless he was willing to actually commit to starving himself to death.

***

“I brought you a sandwich, and some fruit. I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I thought ham and cheese was probably a safe bet,” Ori said when he returned an hour later. “But if you don’t want it, I have an apple and a banana as well, just in case. Oh, and a chocolate cupcake. I wanted to get you some of the pudding, but I couldn’t carry it without stealing a dish, and I thought that might not be okay, so I hope you don’t mind a cupcake.”

Bilbo sat up, and looked at Ori.

“I love you,” he said seriously. Ori turned bright red.

“I mean it,” Bilbo continued. “You brought me food, and that makes you the best person I’ve ever met. Hmm, we probably shouldn’t eat on the bed though—crumbs in the sheets and all that. Want to have a picnic on the floor with me? You definitely deserve to eat at least half that cupcake.”

“Um,” Ori said, looking unsure. Bilbo got off the bed and sat on the floor, resting his back against his bed frame. He probably was starting to look like the insane roommate, but he’d realized about ten minutes after Ori had left that he was, in fact, starving, but he didn’t want to go to the dining hall in case it looked like he just hadn’t wanted to go with Ori. Which was not the case at all, and Ori was definitely well on his way to being Bilbo’s favorite person in the world—though, what with his parents recent demotion, and generally every adult’s ridiculous behavior lately, he didn’t have a lot of competition.

“Come on,” Bilbo said. “It’ll be fun, and college-y.”

“Okay,” Ori said, sitting, and spreading the food out between them.

“This,” Bilbo said, taking a bite of the sandwich, “is the best ham and cheese I’ve ever had in my life.”

“You’ll like the dining hall then. There’s lots of food there that’s better than that,” Ori said, trying to decide between the apple and the banana.

“You’ll have to show it to me tomorrow, for breakfast, then,” Bilbo said, happily munching away.

“Right. I’ll do that,” Ori said, smiling. They carried on in silence for a while after that, but Bilbo thought this was the only thing he’d really missed out on by not going to uni sooner. Having friends that were actually about your age was nice. He didn't realize until morning, but a small part of his frustration at being sent to Middle Earth dissipated when he split the cupcake with Ori.

***

The next morning, after Ori managed to drag Bilbo out of bed, the pair wandered out of their room, headed to the dining hall to grab food before the orientation session started. The door to the room next to theirs opened just as they closed theirs and they found themselves looking at a pair of handsome boys.

“Hey,” the dark haired one said, jabbing the other in the side, “Look—they must be first years as well!”

“Kíli,” the fair haired one said in a long suffering voice that made Bilbo think the two must’ve known each other for quite some time, “Don’t do that. Just say hello like a normal person.”

“Right, right,” Kíli said. He waved, “Hello! I’m Kíli, this is my brother, Fíli. Are you going to breakfast too?”

“Yes, we are,” Bilbo said. “And you’re right, by the way. We are first years.”

“See, I told you,” Kíli said smugly.

“Yes, you’re so clever, because you know as well as I do that there isn’t anybody but other first years on campus right now,” Fíli said.

“There’s staff,” Kíli said indignantly, puffing up like he was ready for a fight.

“Do they look like staff to you?” Fíli asked, rolling his eyes.

“No, I said they must be first years!”

“Exactly, but it didn’t need to be said, did it?”

“Excuse me,” Bilbo interjected. “We really are going to breakfast now. Did you want to go with us? I’m Bilbo, for the record.”

“Ori,” his roommate said, looking nervously between Kíli and Fíli.

“Most definitely,” Kíli said enthusiastically. “The dining hall’s amazing.”

“So I’ve heard,” Bilbo said dryly. He patted Ori sympathetically on the shoulder. He didn’t imagine that the energetic duo was strictly Ori’s cup of tea. Personally, he made a mental note to thank Radagast later, because he felt more than prepared to deal with a couple of rambunctious brothers.

Kíli and Fíli, rather unlike Ori, were full of questions and answers to their own questions, and so the walk to the dining hall went by without a pause in the conversation.

“You must be from England,” Kíli said. “I love England! We totally thought we might go to school there. We didn’t think we’d be good enough to get invitations here, it’s so hard to be invited.”

“Our mother was over the moon when Gandalf finally showed up,” Fíli added.

“You knew about this school beforehand?” Bilbo asked incredulously, as they sat down at a table, food trays in hand.

“Thorin—our uncle, he goes here as well,” Fíli explained. “He’s working on his masters, International Business & Politics.”

“Course, he’s more like our older brother,” Kíli chimed in, “Since mom’s so much older than him.”

“Though don’t remind her of that,” Fíli said, shuddering.

“But Thorin’s great. You’ll really like him when you meet him,” Kíli said, in between mouthfuls of egg.

Beside him, Ori sipped his tea quietly, still looking a little shell shocked that two people could talk quite so much.

“I’m sure,” Bilbo said, taking a bite of his waffles. It was then he decided that he was never, ever going back home, if he got to eat food like this every day. Parents? What parents? The Green Wood would be fine.

He was fairly certain Fíli and Kíli continued to talk, and he made noises that sounded like he was listening, but truthfully except for the odd word he was too busy dying happy to pay attention. At least, until Ori pointed out that the orientation session started in twenty minutes and that they should probably head over to the Minas Tirith auditorium soon if they wanted to be on time.

Bilbo had rarely been filled with as much regret as he was when he put his tray down onto the little conveyor belt that took it off to be cleaned.

The actual walk to the auditorium only took six minutes, but they were still the last ones to sit down, which made Bilbo highly suspicious of the rest of their class. Being punctual was all well and good, but no need to be excessive about it. It made it seem like you were making up for something horrible.

The class probably could have fit into the first four or five rows, but they’d scattered throughout, most paired off, or sitting alone. The four of them looked out of place, like they were too social. He was a little surprised, he’d expected to see a row of faculty, but instead there was one man standing by the podium, looking down at his watch. At exactly 9:00 on the dot, he began to speak.

“Good morning, class. I am Mr. Elrond, director of undergraduate studies at the university. I will make this as brief as possible, because when you’re done here you’ll be split into groups to take a tour of the campus, so you can figure out where all of your classes are. I want to make this very clear, we do not have many rules here, but the few we do we expect you to keep.

“First, you will be on time to your classes. Tardy students will be turned away and will not be allowed to make up any missed work. Second, you will not bring any outside conflicts, be it political or personal, onto the campus. Physical violence will result in immediate expulsion. Is that understood?”

Bilbo heard himself, and the rest of the students, murmur something that sounded vaguely like assent. He wasn't particularly worried about getting into any fist fights. He had a particular aversion to pain of the punched in the face variety. 

“Good. As you all know, classes start tomorrow. If you have any questions about your schedule, you can first ask your tour guide, and then if the two of you cannot figure it out, feel free to come find me in the office. Whenever my door is open, you are welcome to come and ask me questions. Now please, allow me to welcome the students who generously volunteered to come back a day early to help show you around.”

The first nine who walked out looked nice enough, but the tenth, the tenth was the most beautiful man Bilbo had ever seen. He carried himself as though he wore a crown and a robe. He looked like should have a sword at his side, and Bilbo felt himself slipping into daydreams about following that face into battle, which would only end in victory sex, because everything should end with sex with eyes like that.

“Hey,” Kíli whispered excitedly, poking Bilbo with a little too much force, “That’s Thorin.”

Of course it was. Bilbo sighed, wondering at which point he would actually physically see his soul leave his body, because surely, surely there had to be a level of torment that was too great for even his rotten life lately.

He wondered why he was surprised when he was assigned to Thorin’s group. At this point, he should have just seen it coming. He supposed at least he could take comfort in knowing Ori was coming with him, and Fíli and Kíli could be counted on to do all the talking. Maybe later he would reconsider the starving to death matter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to lostbookworm for being my last minute beta!
> 
> Next time, tours and classes. I hope you'll stick around for it :)


End file.
